At home in Guntur, Arjun's parents were beginning to notice the obsession that had taken root in their son.
He spent hours with scorecards, memorizing bowling averages of distant states, mapping player tendencies, even simulating matches in his head while ignoring cartoons and games other children his age loved.
One evening, his grandmother scolded gently, "Kanna, why are you always thinking? Don't forget to be a child."
Arjun looked up, expression calm but intense. "I am being a child. But some games are bigger than the field."
His mother frowned. "What do you mean?"
Arjun didn't answer. He simply opened a notebook filled with meticulously drawn diagrams: field placements, bowling patterns, potential shot options for different pitch conditions. Every scenario was mapped, every variation considered.
His father examined it. "This is… incredible," he admitted quietly. "But why so much?"
Arjun's eyes met theirs. "Because if I don't see it, someone else will."
The room fell silent. For the first time, his parents realized that this boy from Guntur wasn't just thinking about cricket. He was thinking about outcomes, influence, control—the mechanics behind every decision, every move.
And in that quiet household, they began to understand that their son was not destined to play the game for fun or fame. He would play it to bend it.